I Do
by kangeiko
Summary: A night-time conversation and reflections later on.


"I do"

Setting: Perhaps two years after "Objects At Rest".  
Summary: A night-time conversation and reflections later on.  
Rating: Safe for all ages. But dark overtones, so...  
Pairing: Lise/Michael (I know, people hate it, but...) and some  
Michael/Bester, although not in any recognisable way... you'll see what I  
mean later.  
Archiving: Let me know first, please.  
Disclaimer: I own nought. JMS is a rich man indeed.  
Feedback: Feeds my muse. Esp. since this isn't a pairing covered by me  
before...

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"Do you love me?"

It's a simple enough question, with a simple enough answer. All he has to do  
is nod, and I'll be content.

I hope.

I sigh, shifting restlessly in his arms. The night-light is on, of course;  
he won't sleep in darkness. He tries, but it scares him, I can tell. So, I  
make up childhood demons returned since I saw him last, and leave the light  
on to keep us both safe. He smiles, and is thankful but silent. He won't  
admit his fear, you see.

He won't admit anything. It scares me sometimes, how silent he is, how  
unresponsive. How unimportant I must seem compared to everything else in his  
life. But then, it's everything else that keeps the night-light on; and I am  
the one he can welcome darkness with. I'm not entirely sure whether this is  
a good thing. Can someone survive as just a security blanket?

Cruel, yes, I know. But I'm sure that he thinks of me this way. See - he  
hesitates, and it's enough for me. I can see his face, blanketed in  
half-light and star-light and the almost-morning light, frowning and tired.  
And then the smile, never reaching his eyes, as he nods, and drifts off. I  
can see him, even though I don't look up, because I have asked him this  
question every night for two years. Every night for two years I have had to  
deal with that hesitation.

I spoke to his friends about this. I was that concerned... to breach his  
former life. I didn't want to, of course, because I was scared I might lose  
him to them again. Lose him, and wait another five years before he found me  
and hugged me close. Another five years before I could leave the night-light  
on and climb under the covers, clinging to him like a good security blanket  
should.

Do I love him? I don't think that matters anymore. I leave the night-light  
on, don't I? I think that's answer enough. And still, he hesitates. He'll  
never be free of the past - he'll never embrace darkness. And it's not so  
scary, you know. It's rich and moist and clings to you like warm wet silk,  
draped over you in sleep. And whenever I ask, he changes the subject. He  
says my hair is beautiful - raven's wing, he says. I know this means he  
hates it. It's dark, almost black, and he sees night-time in it.

Black is a forbidden colour in our house. Even the front door is rich brown  
instead.

I wish he wasn't so afraid... No. It's a fool's wish, and I know it. I'm  
selfish enough to want him to stay afraid, because that's the only way I can  
keep him. I know that. He talks in his sleep, you see, and so I know what he  
dreams. He dreams of death. Every night.

I think I love him. I think. Maybe he's my security blanket as well. Maybe  
I'm frightened too - perhaps just frightened of being alone. Perhaps willing  
to give up the night to leave the night-light on, when I have no demons to  
need protecting from. So, we are both leeches - parasites, clinging to each  
other to survive. It's not a pretty picture, I grant you.

He wanted me to dye my hair. Well, he didn't say it, specifically, but he  
said I'd look nice with dark blonde hair. I wonder if he ever loved anybody  
with such hair. It's dawn hair, you see - right about the time the sun is  
behind the clouds, and in another moment will burst through them. After  
that, we have golden hair, platinum hair... all the bright colours of the  
morning in our make-believe world with our nice house and perfect jobs. No,  
it's dawn hair that's the most truthful, the most innocent.

I know he hates my hair. So why does he kiss it when we climb into bed and  
draw up the covers? Why does he draw his hand through it, playing with it  
until I wake up in the morning, tangled and worn? That's what scares me  
most. I'm selfish enough to want him scared, because it keeps him here with  
me. Because if he wasn't scared, he'd run - he'd turn off the night-light,  
and embrace the darkness. Why else would he fondle night-dark hair while in  
sleep?

He has no light in his life, and I am his anchor. I relish that thought,  
despite it's perversion. If I could tie him to me with bonds of love, I  
would. I think I do love him. I do. He buries himself in darkness, but his  
eyes still hold half-light and star-light and almost-morning light. And that  
is what hurts the most, when he hesitates again.

"Do you love me?"

And still, that hesitation. His hand is in my hair, and he inhales deeply.  
Perhaps he will comment on how it smells of evergreen, even thought it  
doesn't. I have accepted this. To him, dark hair smells of evergreen, with  
liquid chocolate eyes to harden cruelly under his gaze. My eyes are hazel,  
but he never seems to understand. Still, I hope.

It's the only way I can keep him to me - to ask that question each night,  
and hope that one night there is no hesitation. To hope that when he smiles  
at me, his eyes don't harden like glaciers of ice, until I freeze in them. I  
am, after all, only a security blanket. I have no warmth of my own. I can  
only hope to draw some out of him and keep myself warm.

And so, I ask, a third time. "Do you love me Michael?" And I will him to say  
"Yes." And the answer will have no reservation, no hesitation. He will not  
touch my hair again, but kiss me instead.

No, he does not say this. Once more, he hesitates, fingers tangled against  
my neck. And then, just before I give up hope and turn off the night-light,  
he sighs. "Yes," he says, smiling against my cheek. He kisses my hair again  
and is silent.

And, up to a point, I believe him. But why would he need to kiss darkness  
again? So, no, once again we deceive ourselves. We live our perfect lives,  
and leave the night-light on, and ask our questions each night.

It would be so easy to believe him - to just close my eyes and drown... I  
truly wish I could turn off the night-light tonight. I do.

End "I do"


End file.
